Real Intelligence

I have a very good friend whom I visit on a regular basis. He has repeatedly made statements that I later wish I'd recorded. His insights are from that zone outside the norm. This past Friday evening he made the following statement while we were discussing intelligence.

"Real intelligence is not IQ, but knowing what's important."

We're all familiar with the expression "Educated fools." I believe that is the point of this statement. Intelligence, if not accompanied by wisdom, can hardly be deemed intelligence at all. 

What do you think?

Illustration created with Dream by Wombo 
based on an original painting by my grandmother.

Watching the Wheels: When John Lennon Sidestepped the Rat Race

Cover art for the single, released posthumously

In 2015 I wrote about a concept called slow living as an alternative to the rat race. It's another way of describing the concept of mindfulness. Instead of cramming as many things as possible into a day, week or lifetime, mindfulness is a means of slowing down so we can appreciate the experience of living more fully. 

I think this is what the saying, "Stop the world, I want to get off!" is about. It's also the central idea in John Lennon's "Watching the Wheels," the first track on side two of his last album, Double Fantasy, produced in conjunction with Yoko Ono.

* * *

For most of us, it's hard to imagine what it must have been like to "become The Beatles." Not just becoming a group and making records, but becoming a bigger than life symbol of sorts. 

In their early years they were anything but famous as they worked out an identity while playing clubs in Britain and Hamburg. At a certain point in time, with a manager and a record label, it was as if they stepped onto a golden escalator to heaven. Their fame was bigger than life.

When The Beatles broke up, this bigger than life stature did not disappear. They each continued to be public figures, making albums, leveraging the fame they'd achieved. John and Yoko used this fame as a platform to make statements about peace.

Eventually, however, another theme which had been apparent years earlier (eg. "Fool on the Hill," "Across the Universe.") asserted itself and John chose to become a recluse. For a two year period he lived in L.A. and hung out with Harry Nillson, who became a successful pop artist without ever doing road tours to promote his records. Upon completion of his time in L.A. John returned to New York where he assumed the role of father and househusband.

Cog wheels in France. Photo: Tangopaso
Public domain.

Here are the lyrics to "Watching the Wheels." Notice how natural and direct the language is.

"People say I'm crazy doing what I'm doing. Well, they give me all kinds of warnings to save me from ruin. When I say that I'm O.K. well, they look at me kind of strange. Surely you're not happy, boy, you no longer play the game."

It's easy to imagine that this is a direct lift of a conversation he had many times in various forms. And what is going on here?

Other people are confronting him with their expectations of what he should be doing with his life. Their observations may be accurate on one level --"you no longer play the game"--but on another level they're missing the point. "Why play the game which is so ruthless, which demands so much from us, dehumanizes us and pre-defines us?"

After being accused of being crazy for not embracing the values of the culture, they label him as lazy, "dreaming my life away." Their meddling continues with all kinds of advice aimed to enlighten John so he gets back in the game.

Here's the rub. Two sets of values are in conflict, and those who are committed to one view insist that the other is in the wrong. "Wake up, John." 

John, is not convinced. He's seen the pressures of fame. He knows the personal compromises involved, the obligations to show up at events because "it is expected." 

In her book Gift from the Sea, Anne Morrow Lindbergh writes about this very same thing. At some point in life you have to nurture yourself and stop playing the game. It is important to maintain a private life for emotional, spiritual and human reasons. 

Watching the Wheels

People say I'm crazy
doing what I'm doing
Well they give me all kinds of warnings
to save me from ruin
When I say that I'm o.k.
well they look at me kind of strange
Surely you're not happy now
you no longer play the game 

People say I'm lazy
dreaming my life away
Well they give me all kinds of advice
designed to enlighten me
When I tell them that I'm doing fine
watching shadows on the wall
Don't you miss the big time boy
you're no longer on the ball 

I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round
I really love to watch them roll
No longer riding on the merry-go-round
I just had to let it go 

Ah, people asking questions
lost in confusion
Well I tell them there's no problem,
only solutions
Well they shake their heads and they look at me
as if I've lost my mind
I tell them there's no hurry
I'm just sitting here doing time

I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round
I really love to watch them roll
No longer riding on the merry-go-round
I just had to let it go
I just had to let it go

John Lennon. © Downtown Music Publishing

 

Flashback Friday: An Engaging Dialogue On the Role of Art in Society

John Heino

10 Years Ago Today

During the noon hour yesterday a half dozen of us met for a Red Interactive Brown Bag Lunch Dialogue about art around the theme “Engagement or Chaos?” The main objective was to get clarification on what appears to be a problematic dichotomy in the arts. Is anything and everything art? Or is art only considered art after it has been “blessed” by the appropriately certified critics from on high? John Heino served as moderator of the discussion as we explored these two apparently contradictory propositions. 

At the beginning of the hour we were each given a red marker that we were asked to place on a line that indicated where we personally stood with regard to this dichotomy. The line was numbered 1 through 10 with 5 being the middle of the road. On the extreme left we had Elitism and Control. On the extreme right we had Engagement and Chaos. 

The dot placements proved surprising. One was toward the left, most were toward the engagement/chaos side of center and one was off the grid completely. Erika indicated that her unusual outside-the-box placement came from a lifetime of observing that many false dichotomies have been created when we make either/or assumptions. She sees the need to re-phrase the paradigm and see it as a circle with room for all perspectives. It was the first of many unexpected insights. 

 

What follows are some of the notes John sent to me from yesterday's dialogue. An hour clearly proved too short and it became evident to all that we were just scratching the surface. Much more can be said. 

 

What was especially valuable, and not recorded here, were the many stories and experiences that informed our personal perspectives. It was helpful, too, that John set up the dialogue in a manner that provided a level of non-judgmental trust in which everyone felt free to be open. John's notes from the discussion are here.

AND (vs. or) Think of a circle [or perhaps a sphere] instead of linear spectrum
• Room for diverse expression
• Avoid judgment
• Inclusive

Pretty much room for everything
• Whatever criteria you come up with, there’s always something that doesn’t fit
• Reserve the right to call something “crap”

Don’t like either word—“chaos” or “elitism” in the context of art
• Everyone has something “art” within her/his being
• What is “art” will always remain subjective
• Engagement is the better choice

Contradictions
• There is a place for “high” art
• Appreciation at certain levels requires training
• BUT creativity is innate in all of us

Engagement may be the future of art. People want to engage. Where is art going in postmodern society?

Capitalism run amok is a problem.
• It seems to be all about the money
What happens with organic growth when it begins to look like chaos?

We need a new paradigm.
• Spirit-based, flowing
• Listen to each other
• Really see
• Pay attention to the intuitive world
• Notice where everyone is coming from

Social and economic dynamics over the past 25 years or so have resulted in art being less valued and less of a priority in society.
• Schools can’t afford art classes? It’s a choice. Political dynamics have allowed that choice, but that wouldn’t be the case if a majority of taxpayers and political supporters insisted that the arts be made a priority.
• Everybody loses when the arts are treated like discretionary spending. It’s more than just the sad shortchanging of something very important that makes us human. The insights students gain in the arts give them a broader tool kit no matter what they eventually do for a living. One-dimensional students become one-dimensional employees and unimaginative managers if they make it that far.
• Think of the cumulative negative impact of turning out less creative graduates. What has it done to earning potential of our young people? To business productivity improvement? To the wellbeing, competitiveness and economic performance of America? In reality, we cannot “not afford” to include arts as part of a well-rounded education.

What is value?
• Utilitarian?
• Aesthetic/beauty?
• What about the assumption that if a piece of art is expensive, it must be good?

"I don’t accept that anything is art."
• But I want to decide. I don’t want to be told why I should appreciate a piece of art.

I don’t really think of myself as an artist, but I have impulses to make things.
• If someone else enjoys it, that’s great.

If something called art is strange or inaccessible on its face, it may be because we’re not trained to understand what is happening.

In the end it proved a most interesting discussion. What happens next is anyone's guess.

A Royal Buckingham Guard

It's Short Story Monday and time for something a little different. I won't pretend this is a great story, but I had fun with the idea. I hope that's how my readers will take it. And if you ever go to England, be sure to see the changing of the guards.

A Royal Buckingham Guard

One of the more fascinating aspects of travelling abroad is meeting the people who live there, whether it be enjoying a few moments in a quaint chat or sharing an evening's intrigue. Sometimes, if Fate permits, we may even be entitled -- by means of a glimpse -- to gain an insight into one or another of life's great mysteries. One such insight was afforded me on my last visit to England.

It was typical English weather for late September. I had found myself a free evening without company. (My business takes me to England on the average of once a year.) As I walked the streets near my hotel, I became attached to the idea that if I were lucky I could find a pub. The idea of being stuck with no one to talk to for four hours had little appeal this night and, sure enough, I'd no sooner turned the bend when I came upon The Bull Dog, a tavern at the corner of Devonshire and Greene.

Upon entering, I was greeted by a poker-faced elderly gentleman who walked with the most precise and erect carriage. "G'devening, sire."

"Uh, yes, if you wish."

"Might I offer the fine gentleman a seat. Join me. Please. Are you a writer?"

"A writer? Beg your pardon. Why, yes, but how did you know?"

"I've been waiting for a writer. Expecting you. I hope you are THE writer."

"Well, it could be a mistake, I suppose."

He made no reply and I sat awkwardly wondering what to say. At last he ordered each of us a stein of Guinness and paid for it, but offered no explanation of why he was seeking a writer. In fact, he offered no small talk at all, or little more than an occasional grunting assent.

"Miserable weather," I said.

"Un-hmm."

"Quite a chill wind there."

"Uh-hmm."

"Good thing I found somewhere to get out of the cold."

"Un-hm."

His eyes conveyed the desire to find someone else to label as his writer but it was quite useless. It had evidently been foreordained, neither his wishes nor mine withstanding. At last he extended his hand to me and grudgingly presented his name. "Jack Moore."

"Pleased to meet you. Ed Nichols," I said, taking the hand and giving it a firm shake.

We sipped from our steins and proceeded to study one another. Halfway through my second beer the outside world had completely fallen away.

A fly suddenly made its appearance and -- though at the time I gave it no significance -- began tickling the knuckles of my right hand, first landing then departing, repeating this ritual until I had at last taken full notice and made a swift grab for him with my left. My companion had not blinked an eye, observing as he was my strange effort at capture. The fly landed now on the table and with extreme patience I had cupped my hands closer and closer about him.

"Don't kill that fly!" Moore cried out.

"What?"

"He's trying to tell you something."

"Please?"

"Did you see how he landed on your right hand? You are right handed, correct?"

"So?"

"He's telling you to write. Take up your pen. It's time."

"Maybe he's telling me to shoot you."

"You jest. You have a gun?"

"Not with me."

"Then stop playing this game of yours and let's get down to business then."

"How many of these have you had before I got here?" I said, pointing at the Guinness.

"None," he replied. "I had just arrived for my seven o'clock meeting with a writer who will tell my story."

"And what story is that?"

He lowered his voice. "I used to be a Royal Buckingham Guard. It is the Secret of the Guards I wish to tell. I'm telling you so you will write it." At this he leaned very far forward over the table and spoke barely above a whisper. "You must understand that it will sound quite bizarre for you at first. Especially if you've never heard things like this. But there are some people who know what's really happening, and it is for these few that I write, for the time has come to speak. You have been brought here by Providence to write and this story must be told."

I've long since learned that sincerity should not be confused with truth. A belligerent, convinced the earth is flat, is not likely to speak falteringly of his conviction. It must have been at this point that I pondered making a request for his credentials. I let the matter slide, choosing simply to hear the man out.

Jack Moore leaned hard against the back of his booth bench, face jutting forward so that the line of his neck formed nearly a right angle to his torso, eyes blazing with an urgency and vehemence that is uncommon among what I call "normal" people. What he told me, what I am about to tell, you will likely dismiss as outright silliness. But you have no idea what kind of impact it had on me, and the state of mind it left me in. Yes, a state of mind! It about drove me crazy to think of it. I mean... You will understand when I have set forth his proposition.

As I have already mentioned, his name was Jack Moore. Good English name. And a Buckingham Guard. The truth which he wished to convince me of was that England was ruled by the Devil.

I did not think that such a statement was even debateable. I mean, the Holy Book teaches us about as much when it compares the empires of this world to Babylon, and all the other statements about the State in opposition to the People of God.

Yet even so, we do not really live with this conviction. We are pleased to see Billy Graham at President's Clinton's inauguration. We imagine that there are both good monarchs and bad in England as well as all other civilized Christian states. We spend little time dwelling on this, and modestly accept it. People are basically good, even kings sometimes.

Jack Moore did not agree. "Let me tell you how a Guard learns discipline," said he. "It's the flies. We are trained by the flies!"

"Get a grip, man," I wanted to say.

People at the next table turned and stared at us, one bloke in mid-chew. Moore was focused only on getting his story heard, explainging how each new guard undergoes rigorous training, so as not to flinch a muscle, narry even a blink if it be possible, while on duty. Duty! This duty not to the monarch, but to the one who is above even the monarch, the Lord of the Flies.

To Be Continued

Picture with doiley look at left created by Down Home Creations

The Natural

"My life didn't turn out the way I expected." ~ Roy Hobbs

Watched The Natural last night with Robert. A number of good lines. "I believe we all have two lives... the life we learn with and the life we live with after that." Good line. But what about now? When does "the life we live with after that" begin?

Another interesting statement. "I didn't see it coming. I should have seen it coming." Some things that happen to us seem to have no foreshadowing even when in fact they do.

Interesting, too, that the movie ends with an upbeat heroic end and altogether differently from the book.

Why do people want to be famous? Roy Hobbs wanted that... to be the best that ever was. Why? Iris challenges him: "Why does that matter so much to you? Isn't it good enough to know you were good?"
Oct 1, 2000

Too often we chase treasure at the ends of the earth when there are acres of diamonds right here at our feet. Open your eyes and see where true value lies.